


Sunflower

by rinkuyaaa



Series: I can't let go (and I don't think I want to) [2]
Category: Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dick Grayson from Rebirth is grown up Teen Titan's Robin, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Sharing a Bed, Slade Wilson has a heart, Slade is Rebirth Slade, This is a few years after Teen Titans (animated series), Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-09-15 21:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16941438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinkuyaaa/pseuds/rinkuyaaa
Summary: Bruce Wayne's ward: Richard Grayson, is missing. Damian Wayne has enlisted a known mercenary to find his missing brother, before he is sold into the abyss that is the Black Market. Slade Wilson struggles to find grounds to he and Dick's relationship, and his feelings only get weirder when he is drafted into a war against underground slavery.





	1. The Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Averia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Averia/gifts), [EveryDarkCorner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDarkCorner/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for you loyal Slade/Dick fans! The fandom has been looking a little dry, (except for a few select writers), and I decided it is time to release my first chapter. English is not my first language, and I beg for your pardon if you are confused at any points. I will update once every two weeks. Enjoy my loves! 
> 
> This is dedicated to the beautiful Averia and EveryDarkCorner, whose fanfics are one of the most incredible I've ever read.
> 
> Do not be afraid to comment and kudos! Criticism and Kudos are practically my driving force!
> 
> -Rinkuyaaa

 

Richard John Grayson was not one for disappearing acts. Taught and raised by the Batman, former leader of the Teen Titans, and well known playboy has it out for the good in humanity. A daddy’s boy if you will. His eloquence and overall benevolent nature was nauseating. He was the complete opposite of his father, less brooding; more sunshine and light. He could be mischievous, a sensual smirk playing on his lips as he would run his hands in his hair after a particularly exhilarating session.

Of training of course.

Slade Wilson had no need for sunshine, as he was a calculated mercenary with a knack for self-destruction and loathing. Raised by a hateful father and a ridiculously saint-like stepmother, he realized the world had nothing to offer him. He had tried so hard to be a good father, a good husband. But after the super-soldier serum, he struggled to live a normal life when he was discharged from the army. He succumbed to his bloodlust in the form of contracts. The pay was immensely satisfactory, and kept his family comfortable in a white man’s picket fence wet dream.

Until everything came to stab him in the back. The eye. Slade had been on a hit job with Wintergreen when his son had been kidnapped by a former rival. The Jackal had ordered his men to hold his son hostage. He had seen Joey’s throat slit before him. He had killed the fool that dared hurt his son, but as he held Joey, feeling for his pulse, he had made the lethal mistake of distancing himself from his wife. Again. She would not stand for it this time.

 

* * *

 

_“There was this Colonel from Quarac...you murdered him--"_

_“Shut up.”_

_“--which enraged the Quarac President. Who sent an agent to kill you.”_

_“...”_

_“The agent sent to kidnap my son-”_

_“Whom you left alone.”_

_“-He could not find you. You were in Cambodia…” her face had twisted, eyes shining dully in tears, “...rescuing your daughter. Not our daughter...yours. You... and your Chinese prostitute.”_

_“...I had no idea what a ‘Death Stroke’ was,” she continued. “Until now. Slade Wilson...The Deathstroke”, Adeline’s voice was strangely blank._

_“Paramedics are on the way. We can argue about who’s to blame later”,_

_Slade had snarled as he tried and failed to keep pressure on Joey’s neck, futilely suppressing the heavy bleeding. He had not felt the cold metal against the back of his head until it was too late. “No...I think we’ll deal with it now.”_

 

* * *

 

He could almost still hear the shot ringing in his ears. The serum had muddled his memories, but this memory still clung to his mind like particularly resistant glue. He would never forget the pain that followed, waking up without the sight in his right eye. He does not blame Adeline. She was right to have shot him. For the stress, the cheating, the fights, and, oh, finding out her husband was a serial killer for hire. It had been too much, and he wonders about the different paths their lives could have gone, if they had held on to one another. He could have tried to be a businessman, tried to be a better and much more stable husband and father. He knew, in the end, that he could’ve never had been happy doing a normal job. He was too strong, too alert to even try.

His blood-lust would’ve been a problem as well. Slade shook his head. Thinking about the past would not solve anything. He had last seen Joey with an older man. He had changed his surname to Joseph Kane to conceal the fact that his father was a known mercenary, taking on his mother’s maiden name. He lives on a mountain top in Tibet with the rest of the Teen Titans East. He hadn’t been spying on him, well, not on purpose anyway, and had seen him walking out of a café with his boyfriend in tow. His face was stretched into a warm smile, the man beside him had held him close as they walked home, the cool winter fog enveloping them as they disappeared.

All that mattered was that Joey was happy. His son had not wanted to see him face to face after he and Adeline divorced. Nightwing had taken his son under his wing after the difficult separation and had given him a place to call home. Even helped him learn how to control his powers. Slade would always be grateful for that, though he’d never admit it.

...

He had received a text with an offer. A missing persons situation. Quite possibly mafia, or the like. He was waiting on the rooftop of a building, situated in the nearly empty suburbs of Gotham.

The streets smelled of wet pavement and motor oil. The tangible air had always been a strange thing, a mix of carbon and smoke; the smell of destitude.

Movement caught his eye. A figure was bounding to him, gliding silently among the rooftops. The figure was small, and grace was etched into every move. The individual landed lightly, and walked towards him with surety. A hood was drawn, but he could recognize the child from miles away.

“Robin.”

“Deathstroke.”

Slade almost laughed. He wondered if this had anything to do with a certain ex-Robin’s disappearance.

“So Robin, does Daddy know you’re hiring known mercenaries?”

Robin stayed silent. Slade was now disquieted by the boy’s reaction for going behind his father’s back. His hood was off now, and he was looking the other the way, lips pressed together to keep them from trembling. In his presence, the brat was usually trying to disembowel him: the change had him almost making a break for it in the opposite direction. He, however, was not given the title ‘The World’s Deadliest Assassin’ by running from homicidal, pre-pubescent teenagers.

“I need help. Nightwing has been missing for a few weeks. We haven’t received a ransom.” Damian flipped open his communicator and handed it to Slade, pointing at the crime scene photos.

Slade scrolled through the photos of an empty bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. There were photographs of Dick’s family and friends on the shelves. Zitka, a round, plush elephant named after the elephant in the circus Dick took care of was lying neatly on top of plush pillows. Looking at its cute button eyes, he was reminded of Rose’s own stuffed horse, Puka. Slade drifted slightly before looking at the pictures more closely. Everything was in place...but it looked too neat: staged.

“I think he might’ve been kidnapped. I went to visit him at his apartment in Bludhaven after he didn’t come to the manor. He's never kept his apartment this...tidy. I immediately knew something was wrong when I saw his room. He complained once before that he never has time to clean. ”

His lower lip trembled again. “He didn’t come to my school play. He had promised he’d come.”

Slade didn’t do sentimental. Although...he could see why Damian had been so affected by Nightwing’s disappearance. He was the first to take him on as a person. As a friend. As a brother.

“You know I only do contracts?” Damian huffed.

“I can make it worth your while.”

Damian then pulled out a thick wad of bills held together by a rubber band, he held it in between his pointer and index fingers. “This is enough for a deposit. I can get you the rest once you complete the job.” Now, Slade really laughed, but snatched the cash nevertheless. Damian looked like he was just itching to get away.

“My offer is two million: no more, no less”, Slade said. Damian just shrugged.

“Sure. I’ll transfer the rest of the money once Grayson is recovered.”

Slade held out his hand for the communicator again, transferring the crime photos to his own private server. “I will investigate on my own. In the meantime, keep Daddy Bats’ away. I won’t like him getting in the way,” Slade said.

Damian shifted on his feet. “Father hasn’t really been investigating that much, believes Grayson is on one of his undercover jobs. But, if he was, Dick would’ve told me. There’s something incredibly off about the whole situation.” Slade put his hand on Damian’s shoulder, and although he tensed at the touch, he allowed it.

“I’ll find your brother, kid. Your job right now is to keep your father off my trail. Capiche?” Damian nodded once.

“Alright.” Slade gruffly removed his hand and stalked off. Damian looked after him before turning around and soaring into the night.

 

 

 


	2. Trapped

Dick shifted on the bed, chains biting into his hands. His feet and wrists were secured on the sturdy structure of the bed, as it stood in the middle of a dark room. He breathed evenly, stayed calm with learned breathing exercises as he searched his memory.

The drugs were wearing off. His neck stung where they had stabbed him with a needle. He had no idea whether this had to do with ‘Nightwing’ or Dick Grayson. As he was no stranger to being kidnapped, he had refused to use his strength when they had initially taken him down.

Bruce Wayne’s silver-spoon brat could not be caught using advanced martial arts, people would connect the dots and then they’d really be screwed. But, even now, he wondered if that would’ve made a difference.

 

...

 

Dick yawned, sticking the keys into his apartments’ lock. He was about ready to collapse into the sheets of his messy bed and nap.

His day at the Blüdhaven HQ was _crazy_ , stopping a store robbery, breaking up a gang fight (which left him fumbling to explain to his captain why he was able to take down eight men with guns, unarmed).

 _‘I’m an acrobat, so, I’m just...really...fast?_ ’

His captain was impressed but slipping up like that was going to be a mess later. B would surely berate him for it if he found out.

Dick stepped into his apartment, leaving his shoes at the door and walking into his utterly grimy kitchen. He barely had time to breathe before he was slammed against the wall, several men feeling up his body for weapons.

One man held his wrists tightly and cuffed him with a set of metal cuffs, similar to standard police issue. Another man searched his pockets and pants for weapons. He tried to keep his eyes on them, analysing their faces for any redeeming qualities.

White. Average. Goggles looked standard issue. Clothing was tight enough to not get into the way, but loose enough so he wouldn’t be able to see their body mass.

Mr. Handsy finally found his wallet in his back pocket, pulling his ID out and studying his face. “It’s him.”

Dick inhaled before slamming his head backwards. It connected, Dick heard a loud curse before he was unceremoniously thrown to the floor.

Mr. Handsy took some rope, and now his ankles were now tightly tied with a thick rope, some fabric was shoved into his mouth as well.

“Pretty thing, ain’tcha?”

The man before him was holding his bleeding nose, a smile in his voice. He grabbed his hair and made Dick look at him.

Dick spat in his face. He was rewarded a sharp backhand for his trouble.

“Feisty too.”

The two men towered over him, appraising him with a strange look in their eyes. Dick squirmed under their gaze.

“...Say, the boss wouldn’t mind if we felt him up a bit, would he?” Dick’s eyes widened at the insinuation.

He struggled harder against his binds. The smaller of the two had already turned him on his back.

Mr. Handsy, the tall rat bastard, was now sitting on his stomach, keeping him down with his weight. The strange warmth appearing in his belly repulsed him, trying and failing to will his arousal away.

Handsy slipped his fingers into the loops of his belt, removing the sturdy material off Dick’s body before leaning up and running his his hands under Dick’s shirt, gloved hands gliding across Dick’s smooth chest and abdomen. His wandering hands stopped suddenly, Dick exhaling, the soft sigh not going unnoticed by his captors.

 

“Shit! He likes it!”

 

“Fucking dyke.”

 

Mr. Handsy removed his gloves and tossed them away, ordering ‘Shorty’ to restrain him further. Dick’s protests were muffled by the rag in his throat as Handsy pulled his jeans down, the fabric presenting his long legs and boxers. He ran his hands down the hard muscles of Dick’s thighs, before groping the soft cock between his legs. Dick whined, arching his body away as his arms were being held tightly above his head by Shorty.

The man now pulled his shirt over his pectorals and pressed his thumbs against his nipples, caressing them as he pressed his own clothed cock against Dick’s. The hands on his body felt wrong, his whole body was wrong. The lips that lapped at his own felt strange as well. No emotion, just plain lust.

Dick never imagined sex could be like this. He had never had it, only done oral on Barbara when he was feeling particularly adventurous. He loved her, but they were both better off his friends anyway, and he’d always thank her for her love and patience. Koriand’r and he had never tried to do anything remotely sexual when they had been dating either. Dick was actually intimidated by her, as she was alien, and believed that it might’ve been awkward if they hadn’t had the right...parts when they did it. He also loved her, but more as a sister, and partner.

He guessed he was dissociating from the current situation in order to cope with it. Lips smashed against his, the heaviness in the air, the warmth...only an empty husk of what he could’ve had with someone he could have loved dearly.

Now, here, on the rough carpet of his shitty apartment building in Bludhaven, he was going to lose his virginity to a couple of low-level gangsters.

Bruce would’ve been so disappointed.

A phone ringing disrupted the silence, both Dick and his pseudo-rapists jumped violently.

Mr. Handsy pulled back and reached for his pockets, pulling out a brick of a phone. A burner.

“What?”

Dick couldn’t hear some of the conversation, but Mr. Handsy looked down at him woefully.

“Yeah, we got him. We’ll knock im’ out and carry him out back.”

At this Dick renewed his struggle, managing to slip his hands out of Shorty’s hands and rolling quickly. He forgot that his ankles were bound; he only managed to get a few feet away before Mr. Handsy caught him and pushed him back down harshly.

“Yeah, no. We’re fine. Legs’ ere’ made another escape attempt. We’ll finish up here and head down. Thanks.”

Mr. Handsy got up and pulled Dick up to his feet, arms tightly wounding around his waist. He pushed his nose into Dick’s neck, inhaling the scent sleazily before pulling out a capped syringe.

“Sorry to cut this short, but we’re on a tight schedule.”

Dick felt blinding pain in his neck. A hand tightened around an artery in his neck. Cold fluid was pushed into his bloodstream. And then. Nothing. 

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAA 
> 
> Thank You for the wonderful comments!
> 
> I will keep on working to produce more chapters based on my outlines!
> 
> -Rinkuyaaa
> 
> Updates Every Monday


	3. Blood Moon

Slade stared unblinkingly at the the monitors in his basement. Several documents surrounded him in a strange disarray, papers filled with bank records, credit card reports, and printed receipts. He had been skimming through his old files as well. Nightwing hadn’t left much of a paper trail; _Richard Grayson,_ however, had.

He had kept tabs on that kid since he became Robin. His files on Richard had a whole file cabinet dedicated to them. From the schools he attended, to the girlfriends he’s had, to the deli he ate at 2 weeks ago; he’s pretty loaded on information regarding the hero. Slade’s never sure whether Batman knows that _he_ knows their identities or not. It was easy to put the pieces together after realizing where Batman’s Robins seemed to be coming from. A lone playboy adopts a spunky little Romani kid, and Batman’s got a peppy new child sidekick? He might as well have hung bright neon signs on themselves saying; ‘I’m Bruce Wayne! Come get me!’

Slade remembers the first time he had met the kid face to face. Batman had fired Robin after a particularly dangerous stunt with Two-Face. Damn near killed the kid.

After the kidnapping and the torture, he decided to discharge him to keep him safe. And that’s when Grayson contacted him. Richard wanted to learn his ways, wanted to finally become his apprentice. In a fit of childish rebellion and loneliness, he had sought out the mercenary. Slade knew that once Wayne ignored him, Dick would come running back to him in search of stability. He needed a mentor, someone to hold and value him when the Bat wouldn’t.

He had taught him how to break kneecaps, stop arteries, slit throats: fashioned him into a deadly weapon.

A beautiful, fearsome weapon.

Slade and Richard have kept their months of training a secret, as Dick had slowly made up with Wayne over the past few years. It was annoying, but in the end: Slade was content with Grayson’s choices anyway. The boy turned man was not meant for contracts, the bloody war that Slade fought everyday. If Batman or the Teen Titans had ever found out their Golden Boy is now capable of stone cold murder, who’s to know what would occur?

Slade has been trying to track down Nightwing’s whereabouts over the past few days. He hasn’t had any run-ins with any particularly dangerous villains, and considering the fact that Richard Grayson had been captured, there’s a chance his kidnapper was in some way connected to Wayne Enterprises. A faulty transaction gone wrong, perhaps?

Now, Bruce Wayne was the toast of Gotham. If anything, this man was a saint compared to the rest of the snobbish elites that make up Gotham’s wealthiest. Generous donations of money to orphanages and the infrastructure, not to mention the charitable sums of money given to a wide array of public service venues such as planned parenthood, soup kitchens, and homeless shelters... Yup. This man practically owned the city. He knew there might be a few business partners that might stab him in the back for the money, but who?

Slade rubbed his eyes and stared at the paperwork as if it would give him all the answers. Wintergreen had called him up for dinner a few minutes ago, probably allowed him to spend a bit more time investigating. He put the computers on sleep, and headed upstairs. Wintergreen was leaning on the archway of the large kitchen.

He raised his eyebrow at Slade’s disheveled figure, wisely not commenting on it. At least, until he actually sat and started to devour his plate.

 

“Anything on Adeline?”, Slade inquired. Wintergreen answered, although he seemed unhappy to. Slade’s deflection only proved his worry to his old friend.

“She’s fine. She’s on a mission for her agency. Taking down a drug ring in Russia, or something of the sort.” Wintergreen chuckled, “I asked for Joey’s well-being as well. He’s been to accepted to a very prestigious art school. You should be proud.”

“I am.” Slade sipped on his coffee as the room went quiet. The only sounds were from the TV playing a rerun of ‘Sicario’ and the clinking of silverware. Wintergreen let it go on for a few more minutes before putting his mug down, sighing. “You’re worried.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You’re worried enough about him to not utter a single word of grief towards Adeline. Everytime I bring her up, you are always angered.”

 

Slade stood up. Mug in hand, he went searching for sugar in the cupboards. Coffee’s too damn bitter for his oversensitized taste buds. Wintergreen went on. “Slade, you’d sooner burst into flames than tell me that you care to an extent. But, I have to ask: do you miss him?”

Slade’s brain almost ground to a halt. He lingered before sitting back down, sugar pouch in hand.

“He was wonderful to Rose, treated her like a sister. Almost like a father.”

“Where _is_ Rose?”

“She is napping upstairs.”

The implications did not hit him until a few seconds later. That’s when Slade’s eye narrowed. He put his mug down.

 

“Are you implying-”

“Yes. Not the first time you get wrapped up around a particularly eccentric teenager. He’s not so young now though, is he?”

Slade sighed, running a hand through his untidy hair. He didn’t realize it was getting long, almost reaching his shoulder blades.

“Terra was a mistake. I thought that trying to establish a relationship between us would get her to do what I wanted.”, he ventured, through a mouthful of egg, “She had a lot a spunk. I just didn’t...couldn’t love her the way she wanted me to.”

“It backfired.”

“Yah.”

Wintergreen leaned back. He seemed to be satisfied with his answer. “How’s it going with the investigation? Taking an awful lot of time.”

Slade looked pulled out his phone, handing it to his friend. “The little devil has been sending me the information needed to complete a thorough investigation into Bruce Wayne’s investors. I think one of them did it.”

Wintergreen scrolled through the images, and huffed. “Crime scene’s too clean. I understand his concern. Can’t imagine the fear he must be feeling for his brother.”

Slade agreed. He finished his breakfast and went into the living room. He sat and read through Damian’s reports a few more times, searching for what, he didn’t know. Bruce Wayne just doesn’t make many enemies. Slade got back up and paced the room thoughtfully. He had broken in and checked the crime scene himself a few days ago, retrieved a sample of fabric he had found.

The rag had been sitting inconspicuously on the counter, the only thing that seemed like it had been touched. He asked Wintergreen to scan it for foreign substances and DNA. He was awaiting the results now.

 

“Daddy!”

 

A blur of pink and white suddenly flew towards him, Slade putting his documents down before opening his arms. Rose slammed into him hard; at this point, Slade knew she definitely had his strength, inherited his healing and smarts. He prayed she would have these.

Grant had died because Slade’s genetics did not benefit him, did not protect him. He hopes Rose would live without incident.

“Daddy! When did you come back? I didn’t hear you come in!”

Slade snuggled her as best as his tight mercenary clothing would allow him, Rose pressing a kiss to his cheekbone before drawing back.

“Did you use your ninja skills?”

“Always, Princess.”

Rose grinned before pulling away. Slade held her small hand and walked her to the kitchen.

. “Any suggestions for dinner, little lady?” Rose’s nose scrunched up adorably before a light bulb flashed in her eyes.

“Can Willie go get some dim sum? Pretty please?”

Slade put her down, scouring the kitchen for the phone before turning his back to her.

“I’ll order it. You go finish your homework while the food gets here. I’ll head upstairs to help you when I’m done doing my paperwork.”

“Okay!” Rose replied. Her small form embraced his leg once more before scurrying upstairs. Slade did not move until she slammed the door to her room, sighing as he looked over the paper work he’d already memorized a hundred times over.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everybody!
> 
> Yeah, I have sooo many chapters done, and I've scheduled for them to be uploaded every Monday!!! Couldn't update this Monday because of Holidays so woooo!
> 
> Thank You for all the pretty comments! Keep on sending them!!! They give me strength.
> 
> On a side note, does anyone notice that Joey and Rose in the Deathstroke Rebirth say 'Yah." Not too big of a deal, but I think they got it from Slade. Super cute when you think about it lol


	4. Me, Myself, and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I am back. Trying to get into a new school so I'm a little distracted. I'll keep updating and I'll keep writing until the work is complete. That is a promise!
> 
> -Rinkuyaaa

_Few weeks have gone by since Dick started living under Slade’s roof. They had finished training at 8:50 at night, exhausted and satisfied at the improvement. He had only asked Dick’s reason for joining him now, worried it would make him question his choice. They were sitting in the living room, quietly soaking in each other's prescence. He was met with emotion he did not know how to handle._

 

_“Why’d you really run away?” he had asked, concern hidden in cold calculation._

_“Bruce fired me. He really meant it this time. He said he didn’t want me.”_

_The boy opposite him was red-faced, fingers clasped around his own shoulders tightly. Slade sighed and stood, finding his way around the coffee table between them. He sat next to Dick, offering his his body for comfort._

_Dick eagerly wrapped around him tightly, breathing in his scent and cuddling closer to his warmth. It felt highly inappropriate, his Renegade was 17 but he was not one for argument. Dick’s cold fingers and toes were swaddled in a thin warm blanket on the leather couch. Outside, the winter snow was drifting lazily onto the earth and coating the porch. Wintergreen almost slipped on his ass trying to get groceries into the house last night, drawing a rare smile out of Slade at the memory._

_The fireplace crackled quietly, Slade running his knuckles on Dick’s thigh absentmindedly._

_Dick had finally come to him, seeking comfort in his long-time enemy. If four years ago someone had told him that he’d be shacking up with Batman’s clingy child sidekick, he would’ve laughed. Or screamed._

_The universe had a sick sense of humor, and be it as it may, he enjoyed the hero’s company. Rose was only 3 and half now, and spent most of her time napping in her crib and playing alone in her room. He had yet to properly introduce her to Dick, and he wasn’t so sure that the idea itself was wise. But, he and Dick were going to be spending most of their time together: it only made sense to acquaint one another._

_Slade tilted his head, prompting Dick to sleepily look up at him._

 

_“How would you like to meet my daughter?”_

_Dick looked dazed for a moment, eyebrows knitting together confusedly. Dick looked at the blanket clutched in between his hands._

  _“You’d be okay with that?”_

_Slade chuckled, skimming his fingers down Dick’s back, tilting Dick’s face out of his blind spot._

_“I think you’re safe enough.”_

_Dick’s previously confused expression was replaced by fond one._

 

_“...Okay then.”_

 

* * *

A harsh slap in the face had Dick reeling. The rude awakening was indisputably unnecessary, but, he supposed, it was unlikely he would be risen from his slumber by a fairy’s bell. He grimaced at the bright light overhead before settling on watching his captors.

 

“Richard Grayson?” a voice asked.

“Who’s asking?”, Dick asked smartly. His vision was still bleary from sleep, and he was unable to identify who exactly was standing in front of him. The figure in front of him was dressed in a brown tuxedo, long thin hair framing his face. Dick’s heart stopped as he looked at the thin man before him. Yellow eyes yellow teeth grinning at him oh god...

Roland Desmond. _Blockbuster_.

“Richard Grayson. You must be surprised to be here. You may not recognize me, understandably so. I am Roland Desmond, and I run the most profitable casinos in Blüdhaven.”

Blockbuster slowly made his way towards his tied form.

“Your father denied me a very important business opportunity. One that could’ve helped create jobs, pushed the industry forward.” Desmond paused, running his fingers on one of the bed posts, “The greedy bastard didn’t so much as look at my offer, I was out of the door before he even opened the files.”

Oh. My. God. Bruce, what the _hell?_

A hand landed on his thigh, Dick did not dare breathe, for fear of pain.

Blockbuster was known as one of the fiercest men in Gotham’s neighboring city. Dick had barreled into many encounters with the enhanced man as both Robin and Nightwing, barely making it out of their fights with his life. Desmond was ruthless, both in the trade and his strength, he just simply had no fallibility. He had connections everywhere; Jump City, Gotham, Blüdhaven, Star City...there was literally nowhere you can go in the entire region without finding at least a few of Roland’s men.

“You’re adopted, right? A little Gypsy thief like you could never be Bruce Wayne’s blood son…”

Dick ignored the blatant racism for the hand creeping up his knee. The situation was already getting scary, even for him. He decided to cut to the chase.

“What do you want, Desmond?”

Desmond stopped the rubbing motions, leaning his pasty face towards his own. Lips brushed against his ear, moist breath making his skin crawl.

“Your Daddy took away a very profitable opportunity from me. I could take my business elsewhere, sell my idea to another corrupt as all hell agency, _but_ …” Roland smiled into his cheek, his low drawl almost stopping Dick’s heart, “I’ve found a way to make up for the money I lost.”

Dick twisted his body from Roland’s wandering hands as they only got closer to his covered crotch. He licked his dry lips, “Care to enlighten me?”, he snarked, regretting it immediately as Blockbuster’s fingers went from his hips to his cheeks (the facial ones thank _God_ ), roughly squeezing.

“I’m going to sell you.” Desmond paused to gauge Dick’s reaction, morbidly pleased by the blood draining from his face in horror.

“Underground auctions, all in good fun.” Desmond loosened his grip,  “You have no idea, but that is part of your charm. Your _purity_. You’re the son of a celebrity billionaire. Do you know how many people would kill their mothers and sacrifice their first born for a few minutes with you?”

Roland stepped swiftly back as Dick attempted to headbutt him in the nose, his attempts to free himself from the tight ropes resurfacing. He screamed loudly as his position allowed him, bucking untied legs into the air. One of Blockbuster’s goons managed to hold him still as a short, fat woman dressed in nursing attire uncapped another syringe and stuck his arm with it. Dick settled as his vision blurred, head tilted backwards into the pillow.

The woman capped the needle and turned to Roland. She handed it to him and carefully explained the medication’s use in a heavy Russian lilt.

“Every 5 hours, inject one time into blood. Not too much, can lead to problems.”

Roland nodded and sneered. He looked down at the prone man on the bed. He faced his men behind him.

“Keep him dosed and surveilled. I don’t want him waking up when he’s in the transport to the gala. I need to make a few calls.”

Blockbuster and company then exited, leaving the cold, dark basement empty.

 

...

 

Damian pushed open the tall grandfather clock, feeling for his way down to the batcave.

He quietly padded down the stone stairs, restlessly peering behind his form, as if Batman would suddenly materialize out of the shadows. Bruce is miraculously asleep tonight, Alfred’s prodding leading the masked vigilante to his quarters for some shut-eye. Damian was internally grateful for the timing, as he’s been itching to use the Batcomputer. Deathstroke only ordered him to keep his father away from the investigation. He didn’t say anything against Damian lending his expertise and counsel.

He trotted up to the large tele-screen and promptly ran his fingers over the keys. The computer was risen from sleep. A password was needed to leave the main screen and Damian inwardly sighed.

He stayed quiet and looked over at Batcow and Ace. They slept soundly and did not twitch when he turned back to the screen.

He hesitantly keyed his own name, access denied. Damian tried not to be disappointed at that but it just couldn’t be that easy. He tried typing in ‘Batman’ and ‘Nightwing’ and other names and dates associated with Bruce. He tried Martha and Thomas Wayne’s death dates as well. No dice.

He pulled out his tablet and connected the wiring to the computer. He hoped he could find a way to bypass the password. He used several methods, hacking the device as he tried to destroy the firewall that kept him from the information he needed. A beacon managed to appear on his device, which turned out to be a hint.

Five empty spaces appeared on the Bat Computer. Not very helpful, but he supposed it narrows down the results greatly. Damian leaned back in the chair and contemplated.

 

_What is a five letter word that may be of some significance to Father?_

 

There were not many things he could think of.

 

_...Alfred?_

 

Access Denied. Damian snorted, almost rolling his eyes at the thought. Sure, Alfred raised Bruce as a child, but he supposed his name would not be the password to unlimited amounts of information on everything that twitches in Gotham and its neighboring cities. As he was sitting back his eyes caught the glass capsule a few steps away from the Bat Computer.

The uniform was floating inconspicuously in the air, mask and all. A small plaque was sitting in front of it, the metal shining from Alfred’s meticulous cleaning just this morning. He pulled himself up and stood in front of it, running his fingers across the ingrained letters.

 

Jason Peter Todd

Good Soldier

2005-2016

 

Damian remembered Dick arguing to Bruce about the engraving on the plaque. How detached and unimportant Jason’s memory looked. The story had broken out to the press disasterously, they were hardly able to control it. Bruce managed to cover it up effectively, using their _vacation_ in another country as a cover up. The headlines everywhere in America had read:

 

WARD OF BRUCE WAYNE MURDERED VIA BOMBING IN SAUDI ARABIA.

 

Dick had come to the manor looking for answers.

Dick had _chased_ his father around in circles, an angry grimace on his face when he had heard the news and saw the plaque for the first time. His exact words were still stuck in his mind and its been a year since it happened.

 

 _“He was your fucking son_ _, Bruce! Not some faceless soldier…”_

 

 

Wait.

 

Could it be…?

 Damian plopped his ass back on the chair and furiously keyed in Jason’s name. The Bat Computer flashed, and lo and behold, the stupid thing was opened with the name of Batman’s dead Robin. Damian cursed under his breath.

“Still too easy, but…”

And of course, more problems just had risen. All of the important files were encrypted, but Damian really didn’t need information on the Rogues Gallery. Instead, he pulled up background checks on the entire Blüdhaven Police Department. He typed in Dick’s information and looked for any known partners and affiliations with the cop. Dick’s photo showed up on the huge screens. His date of birth, current address, and phone number all displayed for him to see. He couldn’t deny that he felt a pang of sadness when he looked at the gentle smile.

Damian was not an imbecile. He knew there was something wrong when he had seen Dick’s empty home. The life felt as if it was sucked out of the once bright and cheerful apartment. Filled with smells of Dick’s cooking and ceremonial oils. He’d stop at nothing to retrieve the man he called _Fath_ -Brother.

He scrolled through the information now opened to him, the list of cops involved or related to Dick’s unit. There was one man in particular, Ethan Wilkes. He had just joined the BPD two months ago, and he quit only a few weeks prior to Dick’s disappearance. And _that_ was about as subtle as a slap in the face.

Wilkes was 25 years old, born and raised in Blüdhaven. His photo didn’t raise any red flags but the area he lived in wasn’t very clean. The Bat Computer didn’t have much info on him, but the address provided by the BPD was basically a junkie ghetto. He’d definitely look into that. ‘Look into’ meaning he will creep into his house in the dead of night and beat him with a large metal bat until he talked.

There was another man, a rookie as well. Frederic Alvarez. He had joined the Blüdhaven Police Department at the exact time as Wilkes. These men possibly falsified documents, because he could not find either man in any American police academy records. They also lived in different neighborhoods, but they somehow had a connection because they both quit their cop jobs at the same time. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was some sort of collusion at worst.

Some stupid ploy orchestrated by two stupid burnouts. Kidnap the billionare’s son and win a huge payout.

Damian rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. 2:45a.m.

Shit.

That was already too much time. He’s been downstairs too long. Alfred will probably come down to clean, or check on things. He pulled out a flashdrive he had brought with him and stuck it into the upper console. Damian selected both cops’ information, and some extra data regarding their case. He clicked ‘DOWNLOAD’ on the screen, and allowed the necessary information to load. And... done.

He leaned in his chair and hopped off silently, footsteps muffled by the heeled shoes he wore. He crept up the stone staircase, looking around for any unwanted Bats. He made it up without hassle, peeking through the half-open grandfather clock. The manor seemed silent, save for the creak of loose floorboards underneath his feet. He was about to disappear into the safety of his room until-

“Damian?”

Crap.

Damian jumped, heart nearly jumping out of his body at the whispered name.

 

He hesitantly closed the door and turned to his father. Bruce was standing on shaky legs, an instability to him that was certainly strange for a man of his strength and poise. Bruce blinked slowly, and only now did Damian realize that his father was caked with old sweat and grime. A thick bandage, a hint of blood peeking out of it, was wound around Bruce’s chest.

Damian reached out to his father, pulling his bare arm over his shoulder to hold his father steady.

“Come, father. Let us put you to bed.”, Damian murmured, leading his father back to the master bedroom. Alfred was nowhere to be found, attending to other duties.

His father was probably higher than a kite on pain medication. He managed to jimmy the handle and direct his father to the king-sized bed, swinging with all his strength. Bruce landed on the cushions, curling around the soft comforter laid out underneath. As his breath steadied Damian made to leave the room. A large hand rested against his, pulling him closer to the man beneath him.

Damian struggled against the hold, only stopping at Bruce's haunted look.

“ _Stay_ ", he pleaded, “Please.”

Damian hesitated. He needed to get this data to Slade. He was only working on instinct, only _believing_ Dick to be in danger. But, then again, when has his father ever offered any physical comfort?...

“Very well.” Damian burrowed selfishly into Bruce's hold, “I’ll stay.”

 

Father and son drifted into much needed sleep.

 

 

 


	5. These prayers ain't working anymore

Rose sat at her tea table, engaged in an aristocratic discussion with Madame Pacaderm about women’s rights. Her lavender table was decorated with real, child-sized silverware and cutlery, a treasured gift from her father. An expensive, decorative table cloth was visible underneath the porcelain china ordered exclusively from India. These objects also came with her most recent birthday present.

“What are your ideals in the female education system, dear misses?” The stuffed toy remained silent at the question, trunk leaned over the tea cup. Puka was sitting on another chair, her hooves placed neatly in front her stomach. Rose straightened her, only for her to land face-first in her soup. She turned to Madame Pachaderm once more, her eyebrows raised as if she had heard something absurd.

 

“ _Madame!_ You cannot possibly mean that! Women can certainly become more than homemakers! Quiet such blasphemy!”, Rose exclaimed.

 

She then giggled uncontrollably, as Madame Pachaderm’s leather arse slipped off her chair and onto the wooden floor. She made to pick up her toy when someone hidden in the doorway made themself known.

“Not very graceful, is she?”

Rose looked up at Wintergreen and grinned brightly at his entrance. “Nope, but I think I’ll leave her on the ground! Her old-fashioned way of thinking must’nt go unpunished.”

Wintergreen held out his arms so Rose could embrace him.

 

“Let’s go downstairs. I made mac’n cheese.”

 

“Yay!”

 

Wintergreen leaned on the guard rail and went downstairs, keeping his hold on the frolicky 5 year old. Slade had told him to best carry Rose down the stairs rather than allow her to go down on her own.

She had a habit of tripping over her own feet now that she was getting larger and much more coltish. Rose had slipped when she had gone down the stairs too fast, clumsy feet developed at this stage of her life. It was only a small tumble, she had fallen over the last two stairs. The bruise on her knee had faded in minutes. Of course, Slade had over-reacted (in that strange, stoic way of his), nearly burning the stairs down with a flamethrower. Wintergreen now had to hold her hand or carry her every time they descend the stairs.

He walked her to her stool, sitting her down in front of her meal. She began eating immediately, her chews the only sound in the quiet kitchen. Wintergreen had already thrown the curtains open in this morning, the unclouded sun peeking through the blue kitchen curtains. Wintergreen was on the process of sending a text to his son when Rose hesitantly cleared her throat.

 

“Billy?”

 

He put down his phone at the strange tone of her voice.

 

“Yes, Princess?”

 

Her nose scrunched up adorably, the concentration in her eyes looked far too mature for a child.

 

“What happened to Robin?”

 

Wintergreen froze but let her continue. She pushed her empty bowl away and played with her hair, a nervous tick that came up she often when she was uneasy.

“It’s just that...well. When Robin came home, I was really mad. He took all of Daddy’s time and he was always really quiet. I was scared at first, too. But, he was around when I was alone. He would tell me hero stories and he'd teach me cool moves and Daddy would be around more too.”

Rose dragged her hand out of her hair. She peered at Wintergreen, eyes shining with emotion.

 

“I liked Robin so much. He left at night lots, but when he was around we had so much fun. He liked my dollies, too.”

Wintergreen held her hand, used his calm voice to soothe his young friend.

“Rose, Dick is a hero. Yes, he might’ve wanted to be here for a while. But, he only needed time away from his family. He wasn’t going to remain here forever.”

Wintergreen patted her small fingers once more, “I’m sure he misses you. Perhaps he’ll be back to visit us soon in the near future.”

William’s mind wandered to the case at hand.

Richard was most definitely missing, and they couldn’t find any leads. No bodies have been discovered in his description and the absence of evidence was steadily becoming a problem. The only clue they had was the rag, which now that he thought about it, should be completely scanned by their tech. William finished his own plate quickly and turned to Rose, a reflective look on her face. He held her shoulder, when her mind wouldn’t visibly stop turning.

 

“I just miss him sometimes, that’s all.”

 

“Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure Robin is out doing his job. In the meantime, why don’t you go read a book. You’re getting very good at it.”

Rose huffed. She didn’t seem to ponder on the subject any longer, face eased out of the tight expression.

“Okay, Billy.”

  


...

 

 

Dick jolted awake, wincing at the drug-induced headache he could feel. He was in a cramped space, he assumed a  broom closet, detecting the distinct smell of bleach and cleaning materials. They drugged him hard, trying to knock him out for longer. What these _ballheads_ don’t know is that he went through rigourous tutelage with the Bat. And survived.

Alfred was always offended, maybe even outraged at what Bruce had made him go through at the tender age of 12. By 15 he had built up a heady resistance to most drugs, awareness returning to him quicker than most.

He didn’t risk moving, guessing by the lights and shadows under the door, he wasn’t alone in the area. Before he could even begin to formulate an escape route, he heard footsteps heading towards him, and he tossed his head, faking sleep. He loosened his bones as the door opened, trying not to tense at the sudden prescence in the closet.

 

“Boss said to move him to the van right? Place him with the others?”

 

“Yeah. They’re all knocked out right now, and we gotta’ move quick. They’ll make a fuss, and we’ll want them inside when they do.”

 

Dick’s heart stopped. _Others? These monsters kidnapped other people? Jesus, how was he going to-_

 

His thoughts halted as beefy arms wrapped around his torso, swinging his light body onto the shoulder without struggle. Dick let his body drop, allowing the asshole to manhandle him through the colourless hallways and corridors. They stopped at a door, a bleeping sound signifying their exit.

The bite of the frosty air on his bare forearms surprised him, he barely managed to control the shiver that ran through him on their way out.

The trudged through the snow before stopping in front of a white van. He wasn’t able to catch the license plates as he was swung around, but he managed to catch a rather flashy COEXIST bumper sticker.

 

Adorable.

 

His rear hit the steel and he was manoveured into the rear of the truck. He dared not open his eyes. The light glaring on his eyelids made him twitch, the movement clearly not caught by his kidnappers. He felt four solid bumps, a wave of despair clutching him as he heard pained groans on his left and in front of him. He kept his his eyes closed until he finally heard the thud and darkness that signalled the van’s lock latch.

He opened his eyes, looking at the other people around him. It was dark, the windows were covered with black paper to stop the light from coming in. The rest of the inhabitants in the truck were male, young faces tied and gagged just the same as he was. Outrage filled him as he looked at a specific boy, honey blonde hair matted with sweat on his forehead. He looked like a teenager, and they were all so impossibly young to ever be in this situation.

 

He had to get out. He’d find a way to free everyone, and free himself in the process. The van was already moving, rough turns making him fall onto the man  beside him. He settled in to wait for the van to open up, prayed his escape would be easy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hold up y'all, final exams are this week and I have a lot of responsibilites outside of fic writing. I promise to get back on schedule after my exams! Thank you to everyone for being so kind! My Tumblr is hereticartiste if you want to come check it out or leave fanart!
> 
>  
> 
> -Rinkuyaaa


	6. Everything You Are (Is Who You're Meant To Be)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmMmmmm new CHaPter 
> 
> Yom.
> 
> -rinkuyaaa

Dick woke to beeping. The van was reversing, most likely parking. 

He was a long ways away from Blüdhaven, given the orange sunset in the horizon peeking through the small holes in the black paper. He had to stay focused, if he wanted to get out of this alive he’d have to be smart about his choices. Others depended on him now.

The car’s engine cut off, the only sounds were the captives’ heavy breathing, and the rush of wind from outside. The van’s car doors were thrown open suddenly, Dick slumping in his seat to fake sleep.

He heard the heavy drag of the captives being pulled out of the car one by one. He heard thunks, a man was coming at him at the end of the truck. Thick fingers dragged him from his sitting position in the corner; he was carried now instead in bridal-style.

Dick let his head hang back, to sell the whole ‘passed out’ schtick for longer. It would be of no use to anyone if they caught him awake, he’d just be stabbed with the godforsaken neeedle again.

The criminal carried him into a building, judging by the dull footsteps: they were in some kind of carpeted area.

 

Closed off, naturally. He was roughly placed onto the floor, legs immobilized by tight ropes around his ankles. He used his moment alone to assess his surroundings. It was just like he guessed.

The office space was dimly lit, the ominous room already filling him with unease. He heard several footsteps once more and shut his eyes once more. The others were brought in, monstrous men holding two at a time.

He could see them creeping around the edges of his vision. He listened for conversation: anything that could clue him in on their plans. And of course, cheesy villainous monologue occurs.

  
  


“This the place? You sure?”

“Yeah. They wouldn’t have sent us here if it wasn’t.”

“We’re gonna be  _ rich _ ! The pay from this job could pay for my lil’ girl’s college! This mission was  _ so _ worth it.”

“How old is she, again?”

“Seven. But hey, kids grow up fast. I’ll make sure to put it into a fund so she can open it when she’s older. It’ll be her parting gift from Papa.”

  
  


_ Jeezus. Hearing shit like that almost made him happy. Almost. _

  
“I hear ya’. I can finally take my old lady down to that place she wanted to head to for our anniversary.  _ Cancun  _ it’s called _.  _ I think it’s in Australia?”

Dick would've rolled his eyes if he wasn’t currently faking a coma.

_ “ _ Sounds fancy. Hey, I just got a text from the boss. They’ll be arriving any minute.”

Dick made sure to breathe nice and slow as they inspected him, deeming him unworthy of another shot.  _ He won’t wake, _ they said.

“-Yeah they’re right here, my good men. All eight.  _ Including _ Wayne’s silver-spoon brat.”

“...Why has there been so little in produce? The traffickers have been bringing in less and less...supply...for our demand. ”

 

Dick’s stomach turned.

 

“A new bill. Word says that the shooting upstate changed the law up here too. Clubs and cantinas close earlier now, and people are getting harder to obtain in spite of that.”

 

A grunt.

 

“Very well. Your work is much appreciated. Here’s your pay. Don’t spend it all at once.”

A rustling of coats, the shifting of paper bills were all the noises he heard before footsteps announced other’s presence.

 

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya’."

 

“Likewise. We need another shipment that needs to be delivered in a week.  _ Don’t _ disappoint me.”

 

The empty threat was easily identified. The ‘ _ or else’.  _ Silence, before a cacophony of noise echoes through the office.

 

“ _ Sure  _ boss.”

 

“Can do.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Said men headed outside. An engine could be heard, the wheels squealing before the van could be heard no longer.

 

...

  
  


Slade lounged in his private offices in Jump. He looked out the paned windows, the large building facing the ocean, day bright. He could make out Titan’s Tower in the distance, could almost hear Cyborg and Beastboy’s daily squabbles, Raven’s murmured chanting and Starfire’s high singing. Actually, he really does hear them.

He installed surveillance years and years ago. Connected them to the Titan’s servers when they had become an inherent problem to his missions. He was surprised Cyborg never detected his audio and video devices, especially since they conducted monthly checks for bugs.

 

He was listening for anything of importance, any information that might help them other than the stained rag they had found. Turns out the Titans were still  _ stupidly _ oblivious to Nightwing’s sudden disappearance.

His phone rang, disrupting his thoughts. Wintergreen’s face appearing on his screen. Strange, Billy never used the facetime option. He could never figure out how to use it. When he could work several high-tech machines; apparently a stupid app for cellphone use is what stumped him.

 

“Billy?-"

 

“Slade."

 

Wintergreen sounded out of breath, the old man’s urgent tone is what alerted him.

 

“William, what-"

 

“ _ Slade,  _ it’s Dick, you were right.”

 

Slade turned away from the screens in front of him. Beastboy was jumping up and down, Cyborg trying to strangulate him. The words ‘PLAYER ONE DEFEATED’ flashed unabashedly on the camera’s grainy screen, red and blue lights illuminating his face.

 

“Right about?”

 

“ _ The rag _ , Slade,” Wintergreen was impatient, eyes squinting at Slade’s flashing profile on his phone screen.

 

“There were several substances found on it. Chloroform, too. Slade, Dick was kidnapped.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cancun is a place in Mexico LMFAAOoO


	7. A Time For Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD SOOO MANY PROBLEMS LOGGING INTO MY STUPID ACCOUNT...TURNS OUT I HAD COOKIES OFF. 
> 
> ENJOY!!!!
> 
> -rinkuyaaa

 

“What do you want, Terminator?”, Damian demanded. The video call was not unwelcome, but he’d rather be stabbed in the stomach again than be  _ nice _ to his brother's possible saviour.

 

“Your suspicions were correct. Richard was kidnapped.,” Slade stated bluntly, “The cloth that was found at the scene had copious amounts of chloroform on  it.”

 

Damian groaned, fingers digging into his eyelids. Here he was, allowing himself to be coddled like a child by his drug-addled  father whilst Richard was rotting in a dungeon somewhere, cold and alone.

 

“How do we know he’s even breathing?”, Damian murmured.

 

Slade was silent. His mind ran through multiple realities, probabilities makimg themselves apparent. Most kidnapped people were dead within the first few days. Statistically, anyway. The chloroform meant someone wanted him alive and  _ whole,  _ judging by the absence of blood and of struggle.

 

“He is most likely still living,” He reassured, “The drugs mean someone wants him alive.”

 

Damian looked at him, lips pursing at the attempt of consolation. He did not pursue the subject, face instead falling guiltily.

 

“I have collected some vital information I could not share before.”

 

“May I ask why?” Slade barbed. 

 

“No, you may not.” Damian sneered back. He waved a flashdrive at him through the camera.

 

“You’ll have to pick it up. It is too dangerous to share this information digitally.”

 

Slade nodded, “Very well. I’ll come by our usual spot. Be there at 8,” He stopped, smirk on his face, “Unless it is past your bedtime, of course.”

 

Damian ignored the jibe, too used to Deathstroke's childish antic to care. “ _ Goodbye _ , Slade.”

  
  


…

  
  


“What took you so long?”

 

“Had to put father to bed. He’s been grounded for the past few days due to an injury he sustained.”

 

“Doesn't the butler take care of him?” Slade asked.

 

“His name is  _ Alfred _ , and yes. But he’s busy with other chores most of the time. He’s the only servant.”

 

“Well, I  _ know _ that.” 

  
  


_ I make it my business to know. _

  
  


Damian turned to him, cape billowing the wind. His hood was drawn once more. He fiddled with his utility belt, pulling out the small drive. He placed it into Slade’s palm.

 

“I’ve found two men that might be behind this sorry excuse of a kidnapping. They were on his squad for a time before they both disappeared at the same time, which is absolutely  _ not _ suspicious at all.”

 

Slade pocketed the USB as he listened.

 

“Ethan Wilkes and Frederic Alvarez. They live primarily in Blüdhaven, there’s paperwork proving it. Other than strange ‘road trips’ together, their records seem clean enough.”

 

Slade paced the rooftop, communicator in hand. The night was warm, the smog strangely absent in the air. Damian looked up at the inky sky, clouds dimming the moon’s radiance.

 

“These men. Could they be involved somehow? They have a history of being close.”

 

Slade scoffed, “If you're asking if they are closeted homosexuals, you’re wrong.” Slade turned away. “ I’ve never seen such violently heterosexual men in my life.” He had, but he wasn’t going to say  _ that _ . The military had been filled with hard heads and hard asses, to be mildly put.

 

Soldiers would joke and shove each other, spending hours in base camp with humid, equally filthy comrades. The fačade only lasted until the night, when those who spat ugly words about 'the pretty ones' would creep into those rumored tents, the ridiculed men inside letting them in willingly. There were many of power who at the dead of night went as well, and as such, the tents were never reported or removed. Attempts were purposely ignored by those same men. Oil for the weapons was on constant shortage.

 

The officers would appear during drills in the morning, legs strangely weak and faces absent of strain.

 

“You mean like  _ you _ ?” Damian bit.

 

Slade’s leg was extended on the rooftop, stretching tightly knit muscles and the strong back. He cricked his neck as well, hands tight on his hips. The silence went on, Damian wondering if he had crossed a line.

 

“Do not assume things you know nothing about.”

 

Damian was silent.

 

 

 

* * *

  
  


 

They stood over the ramshackle building, windows tightly shut . The brick apartment with dirty masonry stood out the most in this neighborhood, most likely the best housing the desolate streets of Bludhaven had to offer. Slade was wearing his gravity sheath, a gift from an old friend. His old costume had been bulkier, and the metal mask used to rub his face raw. Not a challenge for his superior healing. But it is a welcome relief from thick, corseted metal and inflexible fabrics. 

 

Dr. Ikon made sure to keep his sharp orange and black, adding his signature half by half color scheme onto the new mask. There was additional hexagonal patterns added to the left shoulder, betraying it’s technological origins, with a new orange utility belt, and a thin but bullet-proofed exterior. A rather flattering and form fitting suit, indeed. It was a welcome change, the new range of mobility allowed for quicker feints, agile kicks.

 

Damian did not comment on the uniform change, only looked down at their target’s apartment with a grimace on his lips. He was not sure why he had ever agreed to be the boy’s babysitter, but Batman was still bedridden. It was hard to argue with a genetically modified 10 year old ex-assassin who could knock down men thrice his height. 

  
  


They stood in silence as a figure approached the building. The moon was high in the sky, shadows dancing across the brick and mortar. Slade pulled his new fabric mask over his face and turned to Damian.

 

“ _ Don’t _ get in my way. This information is of utmost importance. We can not afford to lose this just because you cannot control yourself.”

 

“-Tch. I’m aware. I’m no fool,” Damian hissed, “I wouldn't jeopardize this for anything.”

 

They shut up as the shadowed man entered the building. Damian could hear the man going up the stairs with heavy footsteps and the low thuds of work boots on the floor. The turning of the locks alerted him to the entry and the switch of the lights through the window as well. 

 

They positioned themselves towards the apartment’s fire escape. Slade gave him no warning, springing on his haunches and landing lightly on the metal stairs. Deathstoke then beckoned to him. Robin had a strong urge to roll his eyes at the gesture. He hopped silently and landed next to him. They crept along the rails, Slade running his fingers on the brick and looking at their suspect’s window. The man inside, Frederic Alvarez, was washing his face in the sink, bare from the waist up.

He wore pinstripe sleep pants, already changed for bed. He rubbed his face with the towel around his neck and switched off the lights. He headed into the bedroom, door kept open behind him.

  
  


Slade ran his fingers across the window pane and silently pulled it up. Damian followed at Slade’s entry, his boots landing on the carpeted floor. Slade and he crept through the cluttered home, Damian curiously looking at the bland decorations and lack of family pictures.

 

Slade gaze flickered to him, making eye contact. He signed to him.

  
  


_ Stay. I will be back. _

  
  
  


Damian’s lip curled downwards?  _ Stay _ ? That was the last thing he wanted to do. But Dick’s life depended it so he remained where he was, alone in the dark. 

  
  


 

He then heard a slamming noise, of flesh on wood, and an undignified squeak.

  
  


Deathstroke reappeared seconds later. Alvarez’s face was clutched by Slade’s paw, eyes wide beneath the gloved fingers. He was thrown onto a kitchen chair, arms and legs firmly tied to the chair's sides and legs. Deathstroke secured him to the floor and stepped aside.

 

Robin, of all people, towered over the incapacitated thug, eyes running dangerously over Alvarez’s fingers. Deathstroke pulled the cloth out of Alvarez’s mouth.

  
  


“Talk.”

  
  
  


The man lips were tight, eyes rolling from the man to the boy. He sucked in a breath, “I don’t know what you-" Damian slammed his fist into his stomach.

  
  


“Don’t play dumb. You’ll only get me madder.” Damian leaned in threateningly, “ _ Believe _ me, when I tell you to not get him mad, either.”

 

Deathstroke’s masked face appeared by his side, nudging him away not so subtly. 

 

“Talk, and  _ maybe _ I’ll reconsider sticking you like a pig and throwing you into a nearby dumpster.”

 

Alvarez blanched, fisted loosening and tightening in his bonds, “Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you anything! Is it about the drugs? The kids? I swear I had nothing to do with that-"

 

Something swooped and dropped in Damian’s stomach and he almost did not want to pry.

  
  


_ Kids _ ?...

 

Slade ignored that and pushed forward.

 

“Bruce Wayne’s son. I  _ know  _ for a fact you received a fat paycheck a few days ago.”

 

He visibly swallowed, the beginnings of sweat beginning to trickle down his forehead. Deathstroke sighed, lifting his arms above his head. The muscles tensed as he popped his joints, whilst Alvarez’s gaze was locked on the man.

 

Slade reached out and lightly brushed his fingers, Alvarez's attention askew. Slade tilted his head slowly, almost methodically running his palm on the knobby fingers. He picked at the pinky, lifting it high in the air. 

 

“I suppose you don’t need this particular finger if you think withholding information is going to keep me away…”

 

Alvarez made a noise between a whine and a squeal as Slade's grip on his finger tighted and he grimaced.

 

“Okay! Okay! Fuck, I’ll tell you!”

 

“Who is your employer, you weasel?,” Damian barked. “You and your associate are too stupid to have pulled this off on your own.” he leaned in, “You try to make a fool out of us, we won’t hesitate to _snap_ your whole arm off.”

  
  


“We were paid off!", Alvarez bleated. 

  
  


Deathstroke released his fingers. With the threat gone he loosened and talked, “I do not know the specifics, but we were both approached by some agents. Blockbuster's I think. Hey, I didn’t ask many questions. They offered money and drugs and I needed a fix.”

 

His head hung, sweat dripping off his nose, “They threatened me. I couldn’t refuse: how could I? It was easy cash, and the kid was an annoying rich brat too! Always on TV and-” Damian wrung Alvarez’s neck, teeth gritted. 

 

“You’re  _ garbage.  _ We’re is he now?”

 

“Ack-We put him into the abandoned building down in 2nd and Pier. We only pick up people and transport them. He was transferred into a ring. That's all I know”

 

Slade looked up. 

 

“Ring?”

 

Alvarez’s teeth clicked together but decided against silence with better judgement.

 

“Yeah. He got purchased along with the rest of the captives we acquired that day. The kid... Grayson’s gonna be sold off.”

  
  
  
  


Damian screamed and lunged.

 

 

...


	8. Survival Of the Richest (The City's ours until the Fall)

  


“Why am I like this?”

 

_She leaned over his back and pulled him into her arms. The warm breeze played with her messy hair, thin sweater over her tight acrobatic clothing. Their gaze drifted over the sloping hill that overlooked the long, winding creek. He had been throwing stones at the water, a pout turning his face into a frowny mess. His tears left his face dry, and scratchy._

 

_She didn’t answer, and Dick threw another stone into the small lake. The colorful fish under the cliff swam through the clear water lazily, Dick enchanted by their beauty. He had spent a good amount of time gazing at their freedom before realizing his own problems._

 

_She then shifted, flicking her dark, curled hair from her humid face, droplets of sweat running of her nose._

 

_“Richard. You know your father and I love you, right?”_

 

_Dick turned to her, hiding a pout in his arms._

  


_“Yeah…”_

  


_“...Baby, you need to understand. This is our life. We are_ **_performers._ ** _Your father only wants you to learn this art form because it is tradition. It is our culture.”_

 

_Dick turned to her, grimace turned into a guilty expression. He was being selfish, he knew._

 

_“I know, Mama, it’s just that…,” he sighed, unable to look at his mother’s disappointed face, “ What if I’m no good? I fell on Raya just last week! She hasn’t forgiven me since…”_

 

_His mother let out a snort and kept from smiling as she looked at her son’s face. She composed herself at his lip, “We are not all born this way. In fact, I used to fall all the time!”_

 

_Dick turned to her, eyebrows almost receding into his hairline, “Really? You? But you are so good!”_

 

_She laughed softly, “I was clumsiest girl in school, and maybe the entire village. I practiced in the brush everyday, until my hands and feet were cracked and bruised.”_

 

_She leaned her head against his shoulder. “What I mean is...you are not just_ **_conceived_ ** _with certain talents. We all stumble in the beginning, but in reality, we all have the capacity to be the best in anything. All it takes is practice.”_

 

_She pressed a kiss to his cheek, “You can come back whenever you like. Just stay where we can see you. Your father does love you, even if he is too proud to tell you. He won’t blame you if you don’t want to talk to him for a little while.”_

 

_She stood and left him on the shore._

  
  
  
  


_She did not stop walking until the ground beneath her feet went from pointed, rocky shoreline to soft earth and green grasses. The trees above her let the sun’s light peek through the cracks, her eyes catching a sudden shadow shooting from above, nimble movements almost unseen. She walked for a bit longer, keeping her eyes up to the leaves, before catching a sight of familiar orange._

 

_She stopped and placed her hands on her hips, grin gracing her lips._

  


_“Come on out, you sneaky bastard.”_

  


_There was silence, Suddenly, a man leapt from the shadows, impressive agility spinning him into a front flip, landing on his toes. He flipped his thick, curly hair out of his face, broad face shining with mischief._

  


_“Your English is very good, Mary. I’m pleasantly surprised.”_

 

_Mary sighed and wrapped her arms around her dear friend, running her hands through his unruly hair._

 

_“John has been helping me. We’re touring in America in a few months and he wants me to practice.” She let go, “How’d you get out of practice so early?”_

 

_He jabbed a finger the opposite direction, “I went to look for you. Haly let me get out of practice early to check up on you all.” Mary sighed, sitting on a large rock in a clearing. “Did you hear the argument?” He shook his head, sat by her on a collapsed log nearby. “I only heard snippets of the conversation.” He dipped his head, “Richard did not sound very happy.”_

 

_Mary crossed her legs and put her hands on her cheeks, elbows on her knees. “No. He was not.” She uncrossed them restlessly, “John was teaching Dick how to balance on the tightropes properly. I was there, I was sitting right where the beams met and the net began. John was on the other side, trying to coax the kids onto the rope.”_

  


_..._

  


It happened so quickly. Dick had finally gotten the courage to walk across the rope, pole horizontal to his body. Raya sat behind him, giving him the space to try on his own.

 

His head had glistened with sweat, jaw tight as he placed one foot over the other. He was trying so hard, so stuck in his head that he missed where he was supposed to place the flat pads of his foot. Mary had seen her son’s terrified expression, the look that he gave her when he missed his step.

  
  


“DICK!’

  


John had yelled out. She couldn’t scream as she watched her baby trip off the rope and plummet to the ground, bright colors of his costume blurred into a ball of shimmering reds and blues. The pole landed loudly on the floor, metallic clang causing her to flinch violently.

 

He tumbled into the low-strung net and rolled, falling onto the ground on his shoulder. Raya was climbing off the tower and quickly jumped off the ladder. Mary’s bare feet made loud, wet noises as she dropped near Dick’s prone form. She tearfully brushed the hair off her son’s face as his eyes fluttered, eyes bloodshot.

  


“Baby? Can you move?”, she implored.

 

Dick groaned. He slowly moved onto his elbow, hand clasping his shoulder tenderly. A blotch of color started forming on the skin, promising hurt for a few days. She hesitantly reached out. “Dick, is anything broken?”

 

He shook his head and held on to his shoulder, lips meeting her hands around his head. John stood above them, casting a shadow on their form. He was clearly disappointed, but his worry for Dick was much more important than his standards. The stand-by medic was already rushing towards them, heavy case emblazoned with a red cross. Mary pulled Dick up until he was leaning on her, his head resting on her shoulder as the doctor poked at his wound.

  


The doctor declared it harmless. There was no head trauma, Dick remembering his training and landing on his arm in order to avoid damaging his spine. The bruising would fade, in few days. Dick’s embarrassment, however, would take weeks to dissapate.

  


When the medic left, John immediately began with his antics, “What happened up there?”

 

Dick looked up at him, eyes narrowing. Raya was opposite Mary,

 

“Don’t look at me like that, Dick. You could’ve been hurt. You allowed yourself to be distracted, and look where that got you!” John sighed, leaning on the wooden pillar behind him, “You’ll never be a Grayson if you allow that to happen.”

 

Dick angrilly tore himself from his mother’s arms and yelled, “Poate că nu vreau să fiu acrobat!”

 

He ran from the room, hands muffling his sobs.

 

Raya called after him, “Richard așteaptă!” she tailed him, the cloth hanging over the door rippling as they both fled.

 

When they were both out of earshot Mary reared on her husband.

 

“Can you be any crueler? He’d never be a _Grayson_ if he didn’t pass this on?”

 

John crossed his arms, guilt crossing his face.

 

“I did not mean it that way, Дорогой. I just want... _need_ him to be better.”

 

She turned away, eyes lowering at the pet name, “He is your son, first. It doesn’t matter what he decides to do. It is our job to love him. He was clearly not ready, and you pushed him into doing something he was not ready to do on his own, John.”

 

She stalked off.

  


…

  
  


“I believe the English term is ‘harsh’.”

 

Mary chuckled.

 

“I had to be harsh. Dick is only 12. He still has so much to see and do as a child. Even John and I’s life was not all about work.”

 

Her friend shifted, scratching his prickly jaw.

 

“I suppose that is true.” He leaned closer, hand on his chin, “John isn’t giving you any trouble, is he?”

 

Mary grinned, “He is my husband. It is his job to make trouble. We made Dick, after all.”

  
  


They exchanged pleasantries and watched the sun lower on the horizon, clouds starting to cool the area surrounding them. Mary got up from her seat on the fallen trunk and stretched her stiff limbs, her old friend doing the same.

 

“I have to go back. I need to sort things out with John. I feel terrible after hollering at him.”

 

She turned to leave, stopping when he reached out and gripped her arm. His jaw worked, stubble scattered on his brown cheeks as he turned his thoughtful expression to her own.

 

“Mary...wait.”

 

Mary cocked her head.

 

“What-”

 

He suddenly pressed his mouth against hers. Lips ran across her mouth, thick fingers tightening in her hair. A more forceful kiss ensued as she sighed.

 

She missed this.

  
  
  


A low whine escaped him as she pushed him away, shame running through her frame. Mary glimpsed at him before clasping her shaking hands together. She turned away.

 

“This cannot happen again.”

 

He nodded, sadness filling his glassy eyes.

  


“...Of course. I should have known better. I’m sorry”

 

Mary stared through him.

 

“I know, Richard.”, she shook her head.

  
  


“I know.”

 

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!!! Expect a slowing down of chapter upload folks! Things are starting to pick up at school! Thank you for all the support!
> 
>  
> 
> -rinkuyaaa
> 
> Translations:
> 
>    
> Poate că nu vreau să fiu acrobat! :
> 
> Maybe I do not want to be an acrobat! 
> 
> Дорогой : Dear


	9. Keys To Infinity

 

**_“_ ** Robin _ , calm  _ yourself _.” _

 

Alvarez's nose was broken, black bruises decorating his face and chest. Said nose was bloody, the man is certainly on the verge of passing out again. Slade held Damian by the arms, the boy struggling to break his hold. He was not about to lose the only lead they had to head trauma.

 

No matter how much he deserved it.

 

Damian did not seize, still throwing kicks and fists at the prone man beneath him. Deathstroke slung him off their target, pulling the scrambling boy to his own masked face.

 

“This is pointless. Leave him be. We have enough illegalities on his name to lock him up for good.”

 

Damian snapped and growled, “Kill him. I paid you to-”

 

“You  _ paid _ me to bring your brother home. You hardly paid me to take care of the culprits. Your father would surely not want this for you.”

 

Damian finally slumped, fists clenching,“He took  _ him _ away...He did it for such a miniscule reward, too. He deserves to die.”

 

Deathstroke looked at the bruised and bloodied man, “Dick would not want that, would he?”

  
  


“...No.”

  
  


Deathstroke perked up, ears picking out wailing sirens through the window.

 

“The neighbors called the cops. We have to go. This man will go away for a very long time, that’s the least I can promise you.”

  
  
  
  


Slade and Damian watched as Alvarez, kicking and screaming, was hauled into a patrol car. Babbling about orange and black and wasted opportunities and robins. The cops paid no mind, an old woman in a bathrobe was informing them that _ yes _ she was the manager and  _ no  _ she did not know he was a convicted felon. She spoke to them for a while longer, waving her hands in the air as she gave her statement. When she was finished she waddled back inside, grumbling about her missing some soap opera. Damian only caught a few words out of the officer’s lips, something along the lines of ‘medical treatment’, and ‘turning him in to higher authorities.’

 

The cops pulled out of the parking lot and smoothly pulled out, leaving the scene in a flurry of red and blue lights.

  
  
  


Damian refused to look at him, and Slade stared at him, neither wanting to willingly break the silence.

  
  


“Thank you,” 

  
  


Deathstroke messed with the communicator on his hip, opting to call Wintergreen.

 

“For what?”

 

Damian looked up at him, not meeting his eye.

 

“For what you did. Stopping me. I don’t think Richard would have wanted me to give in to my anger.”

 

Slade turned away, “Don’t thank me. I am a terrible man with terrible motivations, kid. My only goal right now is the contract.”

 

Damian looked back at the brick apartment building. He spotted the old woman from before in through her apartment window. Wiry, thin fingers ran through her white hair, securing the previously mussed hair rollers on her head. Her TV was bright on her worn couch and side tables.

 

“Right,” he affirmed, “The contract.”

 

Deathstroke put his communicator down. “Has Batman returned to the streets yet?”

 

“No. He has yet to recover from his injuries. He’s walking around now, though. Given his stubbornness, he’ll be patrolling the streets by the end of this week.”

 

Slade nodded, “We have 7 days, then. He is Batman, of course, so we’ll have a significant amount of less time to work. We have our first lead. It’s only a matter of time before we find  _ him _ .”

  
  


“I agree. He...he might still actually be alive out there.”

 

Slade nodded. He tightened his hood over his face, looking down at Damian. 

 

“Get some rest. We can continue tomorrow night. Same time. Same place.”

 

Slade turned and made to leap away but he was stopped by a small hand on his side.

  
  


“Wait.”

 

Slade turned, raised an eyebrow.

 

“What.”

 

Damian pulled his hand back, facial expression uneasy.

 

“Why did you call him that?”

 

Slade was perplexed, “Called who  _ what _ ?”

 

Damian’s eyebrows wrinkled, “Richard. You called him  _ Dick _ . Only his family and his friends use that.”

 

“And that is important because?”

  
  


“It is an  _ endearment _ .” Damian finished. His face was suspicious, giving him the same looks Rose gave Dick when he offered to train her.

  
  


Slade internally cursed at the slip, but kept his face neutral. The last thing he wanted was for Richard’s little  _ brother  _ to learn about the implications of their relationship.

  
  
  


A short fling. That was all. He certainly did not think of the young man’s absense when he sparred with Rose. Did not mourn the empty space in the extra bedroom next to his quarters. Did not tightly shut his lips as he pressed his warm hand to his crotch wishing it was-

 

“It was only a slip of the tongue. Tomorrow night.”

 

Damian did not stop him as he shot his line into a building and swung into the black abyss.

  
  
  
  
  


…

  
  


“H-Hey. Hey, wake up.”

  
  


Dick moaned as he was shaken, as he tried to roll to his side. He felt a cool hand on his ribs. He tried to see who was touching him, movement did not come so easily, and he placed his heavy head on the ground. His tongue was very parched, and the dry air was not making it any easier to breathe.

 

Lips met his ear.

 

“You’ve been drugged. Try not to move. There are still guards around.”

 

Dick relaxed as the voice quieted, the cool hand lingering on his bones. He focused on the light behind his eyelids, the calm drip-drip of a water leak nearby. The floor was stone, his cheek felt numb to the coldness of it.

 

Time was meaningless as he lay there, fingers creeping up his arm and feeling his head for any bruises. Their breathing was the only thing present in the dark quiet.

  
  
  


After a few minutes of waiting, he replied. “Are they gone?”

 

His companion exhaled.

 

“Yes. I was just thinking. Sorry. I saw their shadows on the walls. They’re trying to hear us talk to one another, just to be safe.”

 

Dick made to get up, dizziness blurring his vision. The phantom hand kept his forehead covered.

 

“Try to get up. I’ll help you.”

 

He breathed in as he got to his knees, leaning away from the stranger and against the stone brick wall.

 

He clutched his head, murmuring, “Who are you?”

 

The figure stopped his ministrations and pulled back. The light fell on the young man’s light, wavy hair. Honey-blonde. It was the boy from the van.

  
  


Awake, he no longer had that youthful, innocent look. The hardness in his was a facade. The boy was gentle, but he had that stony, survival stare to him. It reminded him of…

  
  


Dick shook his head touched his head, the blur in his vision disappearing as trained alertness reanimated him. His companion was silent as he checked himself, feeling a small, purple bruise on his arm.

 

“They injected you with the drug,” Honey-Blonde remarked, “I think they forgot to dose me.”

 

Dick nodded, ran his fingers across the wounded arm. He looked over his surroundings.

  
  


They seemed to be trapped into some kind of basement, especially repurposed for keeping people in. It was dark, the only source of light was a dim light from down in the corridor. The bars were thick, the walls surrounding them were giving him grief, the dry air giving him claustrophobia. There seemed to be nobody else in the cell, no shadows in the darkness.

 

“How long have you been awake?” Dick inquired. 

 

Honey-Blonde rubbed his shoulder, “I’ve been up for a while.” he admitted, “I tried to look around for a way out. The padlock around the chains is on the outside.”

 

He turned his face to the bars, “I can’t see anything. Or hear anybody. I know for a fact that my friend was with me. ”

  
  


Honey-Blonde’s backed off, eyes narrowed, “You aren’t with  _ them _ ...are you?”

 

Dick startled, “What? Why would you think that?”

  
  


Honey-Blonde was silent, before responding, “Sorry. Leftover paranoia. I have a pretty dangerous job.”

 

Dick was silent. He knew that feeling.

  
  


“Well,” Honey-Blonde sniffed, crossing his legs, “Looks like we’ll be here for a while. What’s your name?”

 

Dick shifted uncomfortably. “My name is…”

 

Honey-Blonde’s eyebrow smoothed, “You don’t have to tell me,” he reassured, “i just don’t want to refer to you as ‘dude’ in my head. I’d like to match a name to the face, so to speak,”

  
  


Dick saw no harm in telling the truth, he was surprised the man hadn’t recognized him now. Professing one’s name and status wasn’t a very good idea in their world of masks and secrecy. He saw no harm in this young man, only saw distrust behind those brown irises. 

 

“Richard. Richard Grayson.” he affirmed, “What is yours?”

 

Honey-Blonde played with a lock of hair on his cheek, “Oh. My name is Eden.”

 

Dick stood and placed his hand on the brick walls.

 

“Like the garden in the Bible?”

 

“...Yeah. My parents were...are evangelicals.”

 

Dick abandoned his efforts at finding a loose stone and pulled at the bars. No give. 

 

Dick’s eyes flickered back to his companion, “I was raised by religious parents for a majority of my life, too. Taught values and such. It’s not my crutch, though. My parents were pretty open-minded.”

  
  


Eden started, “Ah. They still…?”

  
  


“No. I was raised by my dad. My adopted dad.”

 

Dick raised his hands, he had dirtied them trying to find weaknesses in the locks. There was moss entrenched into the bars and in the dirty cellar. 

 

He didn’t know how big this apparently underground cellar. Glancing at his current partner, and flickering back to the thick bars. It would be much easier to be alone. No-one to worry about.

 

He risks his identity being a hero. He couldn’t use any of his techniques, without possibly giving away his background. 

 

Perhaps...there was another way to get out. They were still alone in the dark. 

 

“We can pick the lock!” Dick exclaimed giddily.

 

He had bobby pins in his hair. How could he have forgotten? He usually kept some as a Robin to escape messy situations. He could almost hear Batman's gruff baritone chiding his young self.

  
  


_ “Always prepare for the unthinkable. Only then, would you ultimately outdo your opponent.”  _

  
  


“I’m going to try to pick the lock.”

  
  


Eden’s face lips stretched into a surprised ‘o’ at the hair held triumphantly in between his fingers. He carefully wandered over to the chained padlock. He wrapped his arms around the bars to touch the padlock. There was only one lock, on it’s side. It seemed simplistic enough, the traffickers clearly didn’t invest in top-notch security. He could see no cameras in the hall, and under the locked door at the end of the corridor, white light bled. 

 

There was no light in this room, only a dim lighting from the next corridor over. It would be enough.

 

He reached over the bars and began picking at the insides of the gears.

 

Picking locks was simple enough. It was one of the first things the Batman taught him. Alfred, had assisted him greatly in this talent. It was when he first found out about his past, and how he’d served in the British Army as well. Espionage and Intelligence was his specialty, and with these skills he had later went to work for the Waynes after retiring from his service. He'd been Thomas Wayne's most trusted confidante, and servant.

 

He held the bent clip and dug further into the gears.

 

Eden watched him from across the cell, finally pushing himself up and watching him work.

 

  
  


They heard the tell-tale click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are being revised my friends!
> 
> It is a little difficult to find time to write. I've been bombarded with assignments and a bunch of other shit my life has chucked at me. But not to worry! I'm trying to get my ideas more straightforward, and my chapter uploads will try to be more consistent.
> 
> -rinkuyaaa


End file.
